HE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 
AND OTHER POEMS 

By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 




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Chicago : ^^'' : : :;:;:•>•■'■; 



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THE 

VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 



With a Biographical Sketch 
Portrait and Notes 




I* 



CHICAGO 
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 






* 




James Russell Lowell— poet, essayist, and scholar— was born 
at Cambridge, Massachusetts, February 22, 1819. His birthplace 
was then a quiet, peaceful village, made beautiful by the majestic 
trees that shaded its streets, and with real country close at hand. 

Thus he grew up among almost 
rural surroundings, and learned 
early to appreciate the beauty 
about him; most of his poems and 
many of his essays reflect the love 
of nature which seems to have 
been strong in him from childhood. 
His schooldays over, he entered 
Harvard, then a small college 
slightly over a mile from Elm- 
wood, his father's estate. After 
his graduation Lowell studied law, 
but though he received a degree he 
never practiced. At Harvard he 
had written verses and contrib- 
uted articles and essays to the 
college magazine, of which he was 
editor, and before he had even 
begun to build up a practice he 
abandoned the law and devoted 
himself to literature. In 1844 he married Miss Maria White, who 
was herself a poet, and who, until her death in 1853, was the 
greatest inspiration to him in his work. 

Lowell's first volume of poems, "A Year's Life," appeared in 
1841. This collection was, on the whole, decidedly inferior to 
his productions of the following seven years, and in 1848 he 
published the first series of his "Biglow Papers," "A Fable for 
Critics" and "Sir Launfal." His prose writings of that period 
and later comprise essays on literature, history, and politics. 

In 1855 he was made Professor of Modern Languages at 
Harvard College. Two years later he married Miss Frances 
Dunlap. Lowell was by this time recognized as a poet of true 
genius, a writer of fine prose, and an eminent scholar. For two 
years he was the editor of The Atlantic Monthly and for ten an 
associate editor of The North American Review. 

In 1877 he undertook a new kind of work, accepting the 
appointment of United States Minister to Spain, and in 1880 he 
was transferred from Madrid to London, where he remained as 
our representative until 1885. Th;e remaining six years he spent 
at his home, Elmwood, where* In 3.891 he died. In Westminster 
Abbey a bust of Lowell and a e memorial window bear witness to 
the high regard in which he was held in England; for in that 
country, as in our own, his death was mourned by a large circle 
of warm personal friends as well as by those who knew him only 
through his writings. ^niAAni9^ 

Copyright, 1915, by 4^ CI, A 4 U 1 £o O 
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY 



JMI 



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THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

PRELUDE TO PART FIRST 

Over his keys the musing organist, 

Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
First lets his fingers wander as they list, 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay : 
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 5 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 



Not only around our infancy 

Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; 10 

Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 

We Sinais climb and know it not. 

Over our manhood bend the skies ; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies ; 15 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives; 
Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 

Waits with its benedicite ; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea. 20 

Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 

We bargain for the graves we lie in; 

At the devil's booth are all things sold, 25 

3 



4 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ; 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul 's tasking : 
'T is heaven alone that is given away, 
30 'T is only God may be had for the asking; 
No price is set on the lavish summer; 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 

And what is so rare as a day in June? 
Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
35 Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays; 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 
40 An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be seen 
Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
45 The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
50 Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings 
55 He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,— 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? 

Now is the high-tide of the year, 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 5 

Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; eo 

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 
We are happy now because God wills it ; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well go 

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 70 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers we should not lack; 75 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

Joy conies, grief goes, we know not how; so 

Everything is happy now, 

Everything is upward striving; 
'T is as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 

'T is the natural way of living : & 

Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; 
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; 
The soul partakes the season's youth, 90 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 



6 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
95 Remembered the keeping of his vow? 

PART FIRST 

I 
"My golden spurs now bring to me, 
And bring to me my richest mail, 
For to-morrow I go over land and sea 
In search of the Holy Grail ; 
100 Shall never a bed for me be spread, 
Nor shall a pillow be under my head, 
Till I begin my vow to keep ; 
Here on the rushes will I sleep, 
And perchance there may come a vision true 
105 Ere day create the world anew. ' ' 

Slowly Sir LaunfaPs eyes grew dim, 
Slumber fell like a cloud on him, 
And into his soul the vision flew. 

ii 
The crows flapped over by twos and threes, 
no In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 
The little birds sang as if it were 
The one day of summer in all the year, 
And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees 
The castle alone in the landscape lay 
115 Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray : 

'T was the proudest hall in the North Countree, 
And never its gates might opened be, 
Save to lord or lady of high degree ; 
Summer besieged it on every side, 
120 But the churlish stone her assaults defied : 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 1 

She could not scale the chilly wall, 

Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall 

Stretched left and right, 

Over the hills and out of sight; 

Green and broad was every tent, 125 

And out of each a murmur w r ent 
Till the breeze fell off at night. 

in 
The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, 
And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 
Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 130 

In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 

In his siege of three hundred summers long, 
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, 135 

Had cast them forth: so, young and strong, 
And lightsome as a locust-leaf, 
Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail, 
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 

IV 

It was morning on hill and stream and tree, ho 

And morning in the young knight's heart; 

Only the castle moodily 

Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free, 
And gloomed by itself apart; 

The season brimmed all other things up 145 

Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. 

v 
As Sir Launfal made morn through ' the darksome 
gate, 
He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same, 



8 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ; 

150 And a loathing over Sir Launf al came ; 

The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, 

The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl, 
And midway its leap his heart stood still 
Like a frozen waterfall ; 

155 For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 
Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, 
And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, — 
So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 

VI 

The leper raised not the gold from the dust : 

160 ''Better to me the poor man's crust, 
Better the blessing of the poor, 
Though I turn me empty from his door; 
That is no true alms which the hand can hold; 
He gives only the worthless gold 

165 Who gives from a sense of duty; 
But he who gives but a slender mite, 
And gives to that which is out of sight, 

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
Which runs through all and doth all unite, — 

170 The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 
The heart outstretches its eager palms, 
For a god goes with it and makes it store 
To the soul that was starving in darkness before. " 



PRELUDE TO PART SECOND 

Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, 
175 From the snoiv five thousand summers old; 
. On open wold and hilltop bleak 
It had gathered all the cold, 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 9 

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; 

It carried a shiver everywhere 

From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; iso 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 

'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof; 

All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 

He groined his arches and matched his beams; 

Slender and clear were his crystal spars 185 

As the lashes of light that trim the stars; 

He sculptured every summer delight 

In his halls and chambers out of sight; 

Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 

Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, 190 

Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew; 

Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 195 

With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and 

here 
He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 
And hung them thickly with diamond-drops, 200 

That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 
And made a star of every one : 
No mortal builder's most rare device 
Could match this winter-palace of ice ; 
'T was as if every image that mirrored lay 205 

In his depths serene through the summer day, 
Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, 

Lest the happy model should be lost. 
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 

By the elfin builders of the frost. 210 



10 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

Within the hall are song and laughter, 

The cheeks of Christmas grow red and jolly, 
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

With lightsome green of ivy and holly ; 
215 Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 
Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide; 
The broad name-pennons droop and flap 

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; 
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 
220 Hunted to death in its galleries blind; 
And swift little troops of silent sparks, 

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, 
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 

Like herds of startled deer. 

225 But the wind without was eager and sharp, 
Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, 
And rattles and wrings 
The icy strings, 
Singing, in dreary monotone, 
230 A Christmas carol of its own, 

Whose burden still, as he might guess, 
Was " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!" 
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 
235 And he sat in the gateway and saw all night 
The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, 
Through the window-slits of the castle old, 
Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against the drift of the cold. 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL H 

PART SECOND 

I 

There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 240 

The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 
The river was dumb and could not speak, 

For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun ; 
A single crow on the tree-top bleak 

From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun ; 245 
Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, 
As if her veins were sapless and old, 
And she rose up decrepitly 
For a last dim look at earth and sea. 

11 
Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate, 250 

For another heir in his earldom sate ; 
An old, bent man, worn out and frail, 
He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ; 
Little he recked of his earldom's loss, 
No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 255 
But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 
The badge of the suffering and the poor. 

in 
Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare 
Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, 
For it was just at the Christmas time ; 260 

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 
And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 
In the light and warmth of long-ago ; 
He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 
O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, 266 

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 
He can count the camels in the sun, 



12 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

As over the red-hot sands they pass 
To where, in its slender necklace of grass, 
270 The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 
And with its own self like an infant played, 
And waved its signal of palms. 

IV 

"For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms"; — 
The happy camels may reach the spring, 
275 But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, 
The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone, 
That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas 
In the desolate horror of his disease. 

v 
280 And Sir Launfal said, "I behold in thee 

An image of Him who died on the tree ; 

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, 

Thou also hast had the world 's buffets and scorns, 

And to thy life were not denied 
285 The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 

Mild Mary 's Son, acknowledge me ; 

Behold, through him, I give to thee ! ' ' 

VI 

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
290 Remembered in what a haughtier guise 
He had flung an alms to leprosie, 
When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 
The heart Avithin him was ashes and dust; 
295 He parted in twain his single crust, 

He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 13 

And gave the leper to eat and drink : 

? T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 

'T was water out of a wooden bowl, — 
Yet with fine wheat on broad was the leper fed, 300 

And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 

VII 

As Sir Launfal mused w T ith a downcast face, 

A light shone round about the place ; 

The leper no longer crouched at his side, 

But stood before him glorified, 305 

Shining and tall and fair and straight 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — 

Himself the Gate whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in Man. 

VIII 

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, 310 

And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 

Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 

With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 

And the voice that was softer than silence said, 

"Lo, it is I, be not afraid! 315 

In many climes, without avail, 

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; 

Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; 

This crust is my body broken for thee 320 

This water His blood that died on the tree ; 

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, 

In whatso we share with another 's need : 

Not what we give, but what we share, — 

For the gift without the giver is bare; 325 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." 



14. THE BOBOLINK 

IX 

Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound: 
"The Grail in my castle here is found! 
330 Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 
Let it be the spider's banquet-hall; 
He must be* fenced with stronger mail 
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 

x 

The castle gate stands open now, 
335 And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 

As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough ; 
No longer scowl the turrets tall, 

The Summer's long siege at last is o'er; 

When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 
340 She entered with him in disguise, 

And mastered the fortress by surprise ; 

There is no spot she loves so well on ground, 

She lingers and smiles there the whole year round ; 

The meanest serf on Sir Launfal 's land 
345 Has hall and bower at his command ; 

And there 's no poor man in the North Countree 

But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 

THE BOBOLINK 

Anacreon of the meadow, 
Drunk with the joy of spring ! 
Beneath the tall pine's voiceful shadow 
I lie and drink thy jargoning; 
5 My soul is full with melodies, 

One drop would overflow it, 
And send the tears into mine eyes, 
But what carest thou to know it? 



THE BOBOLINK 15 

Thy heart is free as mountain air, 

And of thy lays thou hast no care, 10 

Scattering them gayly everywhere, 

Happy, unconscious poet! 

Upon a tuft of meadow grass, 
While thy loved one tends the nest, 
Thou swayest as the breezes pass, 15 

Unburdening thine o'erfull breast 
Of the crowded songs that fill it, 
Just as joy may choose to will it. 
Lord of thy love and liberty, 

The blithest bird of merry May, 20 

Thou turnest thy bright eyes on me, 
That say as plain as eye can say, — 
"Here sit we, here in the summer weather, 
I and my modest mate together; 

Whatever your wise thoughts may be, 25 

Under that gloomy old pine-tree, 
We do not value them a feather.' ' 

Now, leaving earth and me behind, 
Thou beatest up against the wind, 
Or, floating slowly down before it, 30 

Above thy grass-hid nest thou flutter est 
And thy bridal love-song utterest, 
Raining showers of music o'er it, 
Weary never, still thou trillest 

Spring-gladsome lays, 35 

As of moss-rimmed water-brooks 
Murmuring through pebbly nooks 
In quiet summer days. 
My heart with happiness thou fillest, 
I seem again to be a boy 40 



16 THE BOBOLINK 

Watching thee, gay, blithsome lover, 

O'er the bending grass-tops hover, 

Quivering thy Avings for joy. 

There 's something in the apple-blossom, 
45 The greening grass and bobolink's song, 

That wakes again within my bosom 

Feelings which have slumbered long. 

As long, long years ago I wandered, 

I seem to wander even yet. 
50 The hours the idle schoolboy squandered, 

The man would die ere he 'd forget. 

hours that frosty eld deemed wasted, 
Nodding his gray head toward my books, 

1 dearer prize the lore I tasted 

55 With you, among the trees and brooks, 
Than all that I have gained since then 
From learned books or study-withered men ! 
Nature, thy soul was one with mine, 
And, as a sister by a younger brother 

60 Is loved, each flowing to the other, 
Such love for me was thine. 
Or wert thou not more like a loving mother 
With sympathy and loving power to heal, 
Against whose heart my throbbing head I 'd lay 

65 And moan my childish sorrows all away, 
Till calm and holiness would o'er me steal? 
Was not the golden sunset a dear friend? 
Found I no kindness in the silent moon, 
And the green trees, whose tops did sway and bend, 

70 Low singing evermore their pleasant tune? 
Felt I no heart in dim and solemn woods, — 
No loved one's voice in lonely solitudes? 
Yes, yes! unhoodwinked then my spirit's eyes, 
Blind leaders had not taught me to be wise. 



THE BOBOLINK 17 

Dear hours! which now again I overlive, 75 

Hearing and seeing with the ears and eyes 
Of childhood, ye were bees, that to the hive 
Of my young heart came laden with rich prize, 
Gathered in fields and woods and sunny dells, to be 
My spirit's food in days more wintery. 80 

Yea, yet again ye come ! ye come ! 
And, like a child once more at home 
After long sojourning in alien climes, 
I lie upon my mother's breast, 

Feeling the blessedness of rest, 85 

And dwelling in the light of other times. 

ye whose living is not- Life, 
Whose dying is but death, 
Song, empty toil and petty strife, 

Rounded with loss of breath! 90 

Go, look on Nature's countenance, 
Drink in the blessings of her glance; 
Look on the sunset, hear the wind, 
The cataract, the awful thunder; 

Go, worship by the sea ; 95 

Then, and then only shall ye find, 
With ever-growing wonder, 
Man is not all in all to ye ; 
Go with a meek and humble soul, 

Then shall the scales of self unroll 100 

From off your eyes — the weary packs 
Drop from your heavy-laden backs; 
And ye shall see, 
With reverent and hopeful eyes, 

Glowing with new-born energies, 105 

How great a thing it is to be ! 



18 RHCECUS 



EHGECUS 

God sends his teachers unto every age, 

To every clime, and every race of men, 

With revelations fitted to their growth 

And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth 

5 Into the selfish rule of one sole race : 
Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed 
The life of man, and given it to grasp 
The master-key of knowledge, reverence, 
Infolds some germs of goodness and of right; 

10 Else never had the eager soul, which loathes 
The slothful down of pampered ignorance, 
Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. 

There is an instinct in the human heart 
Which makes that all the fables it hath coined, 

15 To justify the reign if its belief 
And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, 
Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, 
Which, like the hazel twig, in faithful hands, 
Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. 

20 For, as in nature naught is made in vain, 
But all things have within their hull of use 
A wisdom and a meaning which may speak 
Of spiritual secrets to the ear 
Of spirit ; so, in whatsoe 'er the heart 

25 Hath fashioned for a solace to itself, 
To make its inspirations suit its creed, 
And from the niggard hands of falsehood wring 
Its needful food of truth, there ever is 
A sympathy with Nature, which reveals, 

30 Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light 



RHCECUS 19 

And earnest parables of inward lore. 

Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece, 

As full of gracious youth, and beauty still 

As the immortal freshness of that grace 

Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 35 

A youth named Rhcecus, wandering in the wood, 
Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall, 
And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, 
He propped its gray trunk with admiring care, 
And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. 40 

But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind 
That murmured ' ' Rhcecus ! " 'T was as if the leaves, 
Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured it, 
And, while he paused bewildered, yet again 
It murmured "Rhcecus!" softer than a breeze. 45 

He started and beheld with dizzy eyes 
What seemed the substance of a happy dream 
Stand there before him, spreading a warm glow 
Within the green glooms of the shadowy oak. 
It seemed a woman's shape, yet far too fair 50 

To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
For any that were wont to mate with gods. 
All naked like a goddess stood she there, 
And like a goddess all too beautiful 
To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. 55 

"Rhcecus, I am the Dryad of this tree," 
Thus she began, dropping her low-toned words 
Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew, 
"And with it I am doomed to live and die; 
The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 60 

Nor have I other bliss than simple life ; 
Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can give, 
And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 



20 RHCECUS 

Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart, 
65 Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, 
Answered: "What is there that can satisfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love? 
Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
Which must be evermore my nature's goal. ,, 
70 After a little pause she said again, 
But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
"I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous gift; 
An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
And straightway there was nothing he could see 
75 But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak, 
And not a sound came to his straining ears 
But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, 
And far away upon an emerald slope 
The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 

so Now, in those days of simpleness and faith, 
Men did not think that happy things were dreams 
Because they overstepped the narrow bourn 
Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 
Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful 

85 To be the guerdon of a daring heart. 
So Rhoecus made no doubt that he was blest, 
And all along unto the city's gate 
Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he walked, 
The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its wont, 

90 And he could scarce believe he had not wings, 
Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his veins 
Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange. 

Young Rhoecus had a faithful heart enough, 
But one that in the present dwelt too much, 
95 And, taking with blithe welcome whatso'er 



RHCECUS 21 

Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in that, 

Like the contented peasant of a vale, 

Deemed it the world, and never looked beyond. 

So, haply meeting in the afternoon 

Some comrades who were playing at the dice, 100 

He joined them, and forgot all else beside. 

The dice were rattling at the merriest, 
And Rhcecus, who had met but sorry luck, 
Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, 
When through the room there hummed a yellow bee 105 
That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped legs 
As if to light. And Rhcecus laughed and said, 
Feeling how red and flushed he w T as with loss, 
"By Venus! does he take me for a rose?" 
And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand, no 
But still the bee came back, and thrice again 
Rhcecus did beat him off with growing wrath. 
Then through the window flew the w r ounded bee, 
And Rhcecus, tracking him with angry eyes, 
Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly 115 

Against the red disk of the setting sun, — 
And instantly the blood sank from his heart, 
As if its very walls had caved away. 
Without a word he turned, and, rushing forth, 
Ran madly through the city and the gate, 120 

And o'er the plain, which now the wood's long 

shade, 
By the low sun thrown forward broad and .dim, 
Darkened wellnigh unto the city's wall. 

Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree, 
And, listening fearfully, he heard once more 125 

The low voice murmur ' ' Rhcecus ! ' ' close at hand : 
Whereat he looked around him, but could see 



22 RHCECUS 

Naught but the deepening glooms beneath the oak. 
Then sighed the voice, "0 Rhoecus! nevermore 

130 Shalt thou behold me or by day or night, 

Me, who would fain have blessed thee with a love 
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart : 
But thou didst scorn my humble messenger, 

135 And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings. 
We spirits only show to gentle eyes, 
We ever ask an undivided love, 
And he who scorns the least of Nature's works 
Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. 

140 Farewell ! for thou canst never see me more. ' ' 

Then Rhoecus beat his breast, and groaned aloud, 
And cried, "Be pitiful! forgive me yet 
This once, and I shall never need it more ! ' ' 
"Alas!" the voice returned, " *t is thou art blind, 

145 Not I unmerciful ; I can forgive, 

But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes; 
Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 
With that again there murmured "Nevermore!" 
And Rhoecus after heard no other sound, 

150 Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves. 
Like the long surf upon a distant shore, 
Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down. 
The night had gathered round him: o'er the plain 
The city sparkled with its thousand lights, 

155 And sounds of revel fell upon his ear 
Harshly and like a curse; above, the sky, 
With all its bright sublimity of stars, 
Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze: 
Beauty was all around him and delight, 

160 But from that eve he was alone on earth. 



TO THE DANDELION 23 

TO THE DANDELION 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold, 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'er joyed that they 5 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 10 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 

'T is the Spring 's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 15 

Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 20 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : 
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 25 

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 30 



24 TO THE DANDELION 

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, 
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 

That from the distance sparkle through 
35 Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with 
thee ; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 
Who, from the dark old tree 
40 Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 
And I, secure in childish piety, 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven,, which he could bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 
45 When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! 

Thou teachest me to deem- 
More sacredly of every human heart, 
so Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 



THE COURTIN' 25 

THE COURTIN' 

God makes sech nights, all white an' still 

Fur 'z you can look or listen, 
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, 

All silence an' all glisten. 

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown 5 

An' peeked in thru the winder, 
An ' there sot Huldy all alone, 

'ith no one nigh to hender. 

A fireplace filled the room's one side 

With half a cord o' wood in — 10 

There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) 

To bake ye to a puddin'. 

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out 

Towards the pootiest, bless her, 
An' leetle flames danced all about 15 

The chiny on the dresser. 

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, 

An' in amongst 'em rusted 
The ole queen 's-arm thet gran'ther Young 

Fetched back f 'om Concord busted. 20 

The very room, coz she was in, 

Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin', 
An' she looked full ez rosy agin 

Ez the apples she was peelin'. 



T was kin' 0' kingdom-come to look 25 

On sech a blessed cretur, 



26 THE COURTIN' 

A dogrose blushin' to a brook 
Ain't modester nor sweeter. 

He was six foot o ' man, A 1, 
30 Clear grit an' human natur, 
None could n't quicker pitch a ton 
Nor dror a furrer straighter. 

He 'd sparked it with full twenty gals, 
Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, 
35 Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells — 
All is, he could n't love 'em. 

But 'long o' her his veins 'ould run 

All crinkly like curled maple, 
The side she breshed felt full o' sun 
40 Ez a south slope in Ap'il. 

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing 

Ez hisn in the choir ; 
My ! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, 

She knowed the Lord was nigher ! 

45 An' she 'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, 
When her new meetin'-bunnet 
Felt somehow thru its crown a pair 
0' blue eyes sot upon it. 

Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! 
50 She seemed to 've gut a new soul, 
For she felt sartin-sure he 'd come, 
Down to her very shoe-sole. 

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu, 
A-raspin' on the scraper, — 



THE COURTIN' 27 

All ways to once her feelin's flew 5 r > 

Like sparks in burnt-up paper. 

He kin ' o ' 1 'itered on the mat, 

Some doubtfle o' the sekle, 
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, 

But hern went pity-Zekle. go 

An* yit she gin her cheer a jerk 

Ez though she wished him furder, 
An' on her apples kep' to work, 

Parin' away like murder. 

"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" 65 

"Wall . . . no . . .1 come dasignin' " — 

' ' To see my Ma ? She 's sprinklin ' clo 'es 
Agin to-morrer's i'nin'." 

To say why gals acts so or so, 

Or don % 'ould be presumin ' ; vo 

Mebby to mean yes an ' say no 

Comes nateral to women. 

He stood a spell on one foot fust, 

Then stood a spell on t' other, 
An' on which one he felt the wust 75 

He could n't ha' told ye nuther. 

Says he, "I 'd better call agin ' ' ; 

Says she, "Think likely, Mister": 
Thet last word pricked him like a pin, 

An* . . .Wal', he up an' kist her. 80 

When Ma bimeb}^ upon 'em slips, 
Huldy sot pale ez ashes, 



28 THE COURTIN* 

All kin' o' smily roun' the lips 
An' teary roun' the lashes, 

85 For she was jes' the quiet kind 
Whose naturs never vary, 
Like streams thet keep a summer mind 
Snowhid in Janooary. 

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued 
90 Too tight for all expressing 



Tell mother see how metters stood 
An' gin 'em both her blessin'. 



Then her red come back like the tide 
Down to the Bay o' Fundy, 
95 An' all I know is they was cried 
In meetin' come nex' Sunday. 



NOTES 

[The numbers refer to lines in the text.] 

The Vision of Sir Launfal 

Author's note. "According to the mythology of the Romancers, 
the San Greal, or Holy Grail, was the cup out of which Jesus 
Christ partook of the last supper with his disciples. It was 
brought into England by Joseph of Arimathea, and remained 
there, an object of pilgrimage and adoration, for many years in 
the keeping of his lineal descendants. It was incumbent upon 
those who had charge of it to be chaste in thought, word, and 
deed; but, one of the keepers having broken this condition, the 
Holy Grail disappeared. From that time it was a favorite enter- 
prise of the Knights of Arthur's court to go in search of it. Sir 
Galahad was at last successful in finding it, as may be read in the 
seventeenth book of the Romance of King Arthur. Tennyson has 
made Sir Galahad the subject of one of the most exquisite of his 
poems. 

"The plot (if I may give that name to anything so slight) 
of the following poem is my own, and, to serve its purposes, I 



NOTES 29 

have enlarged the circle of competition in search of the miracu- 
lous cup in such a manner as to include not only other persons 
than the heroes of the Round Table, but also a period of time 
subsequent to the date of King Arthur's reign." 

1-8. These lines form a sort of introduction to the Prelude to 
Part First. Note the way in which each prelude expresses the 
spirit of that part of the poem it introduces. The first is full of 
the joyousness of summer — typical of youth and the high hope 
with which young Sir Launfal sets forth on his quest. 

7. auroral: resembling the first flush of the dawn, just before 
sunrise. In Greek mythology Aurora was goddess of the dawn. 

9-10. Not only, etc. The poet undoubtedly had in mind those 
lines of Wordsworth's 'Tntimations of Immortality" beginning, 
"Heaven lies about us in our infancy!" 

12. We Sinais climb. It was on Mount Sinai ( pron. si ' ni ) that 
Moses talked with God and received the Commandments. The 
idea is that many people, because of their smallness of soul, do 
not know that they are always in the presence of God; they do 
not appreciate the wonderful works of God about them, nor feel 
his spirit in their fellow men. 

15. prophecies: here, inspired teachings. 

17. druid wood. The Druids were the priests of the Celts in 
Great Britain. The poet likens the trees to these ancient priests, 
standing with their arms outstretched in benediction. The figure 
is especially apt because trees were sacred to the Druids, who 
performed their religious rites in the forests and groves. 

18. benedicite (pron. ben-e-dis'e-te) : an invocation of God's 
blessing. (From the Latin benedicere, to- bless.) 

27. a cap and bells. The court fool or jester of the Middle 
Ages wore a costume the coat and high pointed cap of which 
were adorned with small bells. The poet's meaning here is that 
we spend our best efforts to obtain useless trifles. 

33. rare: here, uncommonly fine; to be highly prized. 

35: if it be. In other words, to see whether or not it is. 

42. Climbs to a soul. That is, produces something which 
seems to have a soul. 

56. nice: here, delicately sensitive, discriminating. 

77. chanticleer (from the French words chanter, to sing, and 
clair, clear) : the name given the cock in an ancient French epic 
entitled "Reynard the Fox." It is now commonly applied to 
roosters. 

95. his vow. His vow to find the Holy Grail. (See the poet's 
note, on p. 28.) Before setting out upon a quest a knight often 
would sleep upon the hard floor, beside his armor, his head 
pillowed upon his shield; and always his hope was to see a 
vision which would help him in his quest. 

103. rushes. In medieval dwellings rushes were strewn upon 
the floor to serve as a carpet. 

108. the vision. What follows, to the end of line 327, is the 
vision which was sent in answer to his wish. 

115. outpost: a post or station situated at some distance 



30 NOTES 

from the army to which it belongs. The "outpost of winter," 
of course, means the only thing left to remind one of winter, 
which, summer has driven from the land. In the following lines, 
119-127, summer is represented as a besieging army, victorious 
except in the attempt to rout the coldness and gloom of Sir 
Launfal's castle. 

116. North Countree: a poetic name given to the North of 
England. 

130. maiden knight: a newly made knight who has never 
taken part in an encounter with an enemy. 

138. maiden: here, unscarred. 

147. made morn: made the dark gateway bright with the 
gorgeousness of his apparel. 

163. no true alms. To do a good deed is not enough; one 
must put his heart into the doing of it. 

166. mite. See the story of the widow's mite, Luke xxi. 

167. that which is out of sight. That is, to the soul, to God 
in man. 

172. store: abundance. 

Prelude. See note on Prelude to Part First. This winter scene 
suggests the changed circumstances of the knight who went forth 
so gayly and proudly on his search for the Holy Grail. He is old 
and poor and sad; his false pride is quite gone. 

174. mountain peak. Throughout the poem Lowell describes 
New England rather than the North Countree. 

191. steel-stemmed trees. The stems of these ice trees looked, 
in their shining coldness, like steel. 

192. Bending, etc. In such a way, that is, as to resemble trees 
bent by the breeze. 

195. relief: the sort of sculpture in which the figures stand 
out from the ground on which they are carved. 

196. arabesques: fantastic ornaments — in the form of fruits, 
flowers, foliage, etc. — copied after those used in Moorish archi- 
tecture. 

201. crystalled: reflected from its crystal-like surface. 

211. Within the hall. We suddenly find ourselves in the hall 
of Sir Launfal's castle. 

214. lightsome: here, cheerful. Compare this use of the word 
with that in line 137. 

216. the Yule-log's roaring tide. The burning of the Yule or 
Christmas log is an ancient ceremony borrowed from the Scandi- 
navians, who celebrated the feast of Juul with great bonfires. 
In olden times in England a huge log was burned, at Christmas 
time, in the big fireplace which warmed the hall of every castle. 

219. shrills: sings shrilly. 

237. window-slits. So narrow were the windows of ancient 
castles that they seemed hardly more than slits in the thick 
stone walls. 

255. the cross. On the breast of his surcoat (a long garment 
worn over the armor) the Christian wore a red cross. 



NOTES 31 

256. sign. That is, the sign of the cross — symbolic of sorrow 
and suffering. 

259. idle: here, useless as a protection. 

264. He sees, etc. This (lines 264-272) is a vision within a 
vision. 

274. happy. Happy, of course, because they are to be refreshed 
by the waters of the spring. 

278. white. In a certain kind of leprosy a sort of white scale 
forms on the skin. See Num. xii.10. Ice-isles: ice-covered 
islands. 

281. the tree: the cross on which Christ was crucified. 

282. crown of thorns. See Matt, xxvn.29 and Mark xv.17. 
What was the leper's crown of thorns? 

283-285. buffets and scorns . . . wounds. See John xx. 25-27. 

286. Mild Mary's Son. Sir Launfal invokes the blessing of our 
Saviour. 

287. through him, etc. See Matt, xxv.40. 

294. ashes and dust. Because of an ancient custom of sprink- 
ling ashes or dust upon the head to show penitence the words 
are used to denote deep humility. 

305. stood before him glorified. Sir Launfal sees Christ him- 
self in the leper. 

307. the Beautiful Gate. See Acts in. 2. 

308. Himself the Gate. See John x.9. 

322. Holy Supper: the Lord's supper, the Communion. 

323. In whatso: in whatever way. 
325. the gift, etc. See line 163. 

329. The Grail ... is found. How is this true? What does 
he mean by "stronger mail," in 332? 

The Bobolink 

1. Anacreon (pron. a-nak're-on) : a Greek lyric poet of note, 
who lived from about 563 b. c. till about 478 b. c. 

52. that frosty eld. The reference is to a rather strict teacher, 
whose school in Cambridge Lowell attended as a boy. 

Rhcecus 

18. hazel twig. A small hazel branch is often used by super- 
stitious people in determining where a well may be successfully 
dug. Held loosely in the hand, it is supposed to point downward 
of itself at any spot beneath which water is to be found. 

35. Attic: literally, belonging to Attica, or its capital, Athens, 
the home of art. The adjective is applied to that in art which 
is pure and classical. 

36. Rhcecus. Pronounced, re'kus. 

56. Dryad. In Greek and Latin mythology the Dryads were 
woodland deities who inhabited the forests and groves — wood 
nymphs. 

99. haply: by chance. 

160. The poem did not end here, originally, but concluded with 



32 NOTES 

a moral fifty lines in length. It has gaine'd in strength by the 
poet's omission of this in the later editions of his poems. 

To the Dandelion 

6. Eldorado (originally, in Spanish, el dorado, "golden 
region") : a name applied to an imaginary country, rich in gold, 
for which adventurers of the sixteenth century, especially Spanish 
adventurers, were continually seeking. It was supposed to be in 
the Western Hemisphere, probably in South America. 

26. Sybaris (pron. sib'a-ris): a Greek city of ancient times, 
situated in Southern Italy. Its inhabitants were noted for their 
effeminate and luxurious lives. 

45. In some editions of Lowell's works there were three 
stanzas between this line and what is now line 46, and an addi- 
tional stanza after line 54. The poem, originally published as 
given here, seems better in its shorter form. 

The Couetin' 

This poem is included in "The Biglow Papers," a series of 
humorous verses written by Lowell in the dialect of the New 
England farmer of his day. Most of the poems are political 
satires, and many of them are signed with the name of Hosea 
Biglow, a fictitious personage supposed to be the son of a Yankee 
farmer. 

17. crook-necks: crooked-necked squashes (hung there to dry). 

19. queen's-arm: a sort of musket used in Colonial times. 

20. Concord. What fight took place there, and in what year 
was it fought? 

33. sparked it: played the lover. 

34. Hed squired 'em: had been escort to them. 

36. All is: the whole truth is. 

37. 'long o' her: on account of her. 

40. south slope: the southern slope of a hill, which receives 
all the sunshine in the spring. 

43. Ole Hunderd: Old Hundred or Hundredth — a psalm-tune, 
first published, probably, about the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury. In England the One Hundredth Psalm was sung to it and 
therefore it was known as "the Hundredth" : when it was included 
in a new version of the psalter "Old" was added to the name to 
show it had been taken from the older version. Nowadays certain 
churches sing the Doxology to the old tune. 

58. Some doubtfle, etc.: a little uncertain as to what was to 
follow. 

94. Bay o' Fundy. The tides of the Bay of Fundy (which 
separates Nova Scotia from New Brunswick) are noted for the 
extraordinary rapidity with which they rise, the waters of the 
Atlantic seeming fairly to rush into it. 

95. they was cried. That is, their banns were cried — the fact 
that they intended to marry each other was announced from the 
pulpit by the minister. 



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